


Haven't Had Enough

by Remy_Writes5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Drug Use, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Pov, Mycroft's Meddling, Phone Sex, Pining Sherlock, Teenager Sherlock, Texting, Voice Kink, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remy_Writes5/pseuds/Remy_Writes5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There a million reasons why John should stay away from Sherlock: he's a patient, he's got a boyfriend, he's a junkie and he might just be mad. However, John's never been very good at listening to reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Testing, Testing

Sherlock needs a moment to figure out where he is. Hospital. St. Bart’s; going by the buildings outside the window and the laundry detergent used on his bed sheets. Sherlock takes a moment to sit up and take stock of his surroundings. St. Bart’s Hospital. Private room. Probably Mycroft’s doing. IV in left arm.

            The last thing Sherlock remembers is being in his flat. Victor had dropped by after giving his dog a walk. Sherlock had ignored most of what Victor said. Victor was becoming increasingly dull and seemed to insist on inflicting his presence on Sherlock more often than usual. Sherlock has started to dread every time someone knocks on the door to his flat. Not that it is really Victor's fault, Sherlock is bored easily. He had made himself useful by sucking Sherlock off. That had been quite pleasant and mildly distracting. Afterwards though, Sherlock had been back to being bored and thankfully Victor had left him alone.

            Sherlock worries his lower lip between his teeth. He might have overdone it a bit. Perhaps more than a bit, given his current location. How had he been found? Had Victor come back to the flat? Sherlock dreads to think that it might have been Mycroft that found him.

            Footsteps pull him out of his reverie. They’re clearly a man’s footsteps but too light to be Mycroft – thank god. They’re steady and self-assured, clearly a doctor. He glances up just as the door to his room opens.

            The doctor that steps in is short, blond and attractive. Very attractive. Sherlock can’t stop looking. Can’t stop seeing. New doctor, less than six months as a resident at Bart’s. Formally a student at the hospital based on his familiarity and ease with the place.

            The doctor smiles and _oh dear_. It’s a lovely smile. The kind that would make lesser men swoon.

            “Hello, Mr. Holmes, I’m Doctor Watson,” the man says, still all smiles as if he’s showing off. “How are you feeling?”

            “Better,” Sherlock answers, his eyes still trained on Doctor Watson. First name, he needs a first name. Doctor ______ Watson. He needs to know the first name. He needs data.

            Doctor Watson makes his way over and checks Sherlock’s chart. “You’re progressing nicely, Mr. Holmes, considering your condition when your brother brought you here.”

            So it was Mycroft. Sherlock finds the idea spiteful. That damn nosy brother of his.

            “Any pain or discomfort?”

            “None at all,” Sherlock responds.

            “Good.” Doctor Watson smiles again and Sherlock finds it does funny things to his insides. He vaguely recognizes what he’s feeling as attraction. It’s only happened a handful of times in his life before.

            Doctor Watson takes Sherlock’s wrist in his hand and checks his pulse. Sherlock looks for a wedding ring and is pleased to find there isn’t one.

            “Your pulse is strong, which is very good, considering your heart stopped,” Doctor Watson informs him. “Mr. Holmes –“

            “Call me Sherlock, please.”

            Doctor Watson smiles again. He really needs to stop doing that unless he wants to send Sherlock back into cardiac arrest.

            “Sherlock,” Doctor Watson amends. “I suggest you get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours. They’ll probably be sending someone in to talk to you about the circumstances of your being admitted here.”

            “Don’t bother,” Sherlock says, slumping down in his bed. “I’ve heard it before.”

            Doctor Watson scowls. “It appears you didn’t listen well enough the first time since you’ve ended up back here again,” John snaps at him. He takes a moment to calm himself down, but he’s clearly still upset based on his breathing. His hands have clenched into fists.

            Sherlock is surprised to hear Doctor Watson sounding so angry. What difference does it make to him? After all, Sherlock is a stranger to him. His emotional reaction is strange by usual standards.

            _Oh._ Sherlock’s eyes widen slightly as something clicks in his head.

            “Is it a family member or a friend?” he inquires.

            John glances up. “Sorry?”

            “With the substance abuse problem,” Sherlock clarifies. “Based on your reaction. I’m a stranger and yet you got offended when you learned I had been in hospital more than once for overdosing.”

            “It could just be that I’m worried about my patient,” Doctor Watson responds evenly.

            “No, then I would have seen concern, not outrage. That means you have a more personal connection to it. Statistically, most people know someone with a substance abuse problem of one form or another, usually alcoholism. So, I’m guessing family member, someone you can’t help being attached to. If it were merely a friend, I doubt they would be a friend of yours for long.”

            “You got all that just from the way I reacted to you?” Doctor Watson asks, blinking in surprise.

            “Did I get it right?”

            Doctor Watson gives a small nod. “Spot on.”

            “You’re not going to tell me who it is,” Sherlock deduces with an amused grin.

            “What, you can’t glean that too?” Doctor Watson teases, grinning back.

            “Brother,” Sherlock takes a stab in the dark.

            “Oh, so close,” Doctor Watson says, giving him an apologetic smile. “Sister.”

            “Sister,” Sherlock hisses in disappointment. “It’s always something.”

            “Still, bloody impressive,” Doctor Watson tells him, putting Sherlock’s chart back. Sherlock can’t help preening from the compliment. “I didn’t know people could _be_ that observant.”

            “I’m a detective,” Sherlock informs him. “It’s my job to notice things.”

            “A detective?” Doctor Watson echoes. “Aren’t you a bit young?”

            “I’m nineteen,” Sherlock responds indignantly. He frowns and tugs at his hair self-consciously. Just how young did Doctor Watson think he was? He doesn’t want to come off as a child, for heaven’s sake.

            “Shouldn’t you be at Uni then?”

            “I am,” Sherlock says in confusion. “I do my detective work on the side.”

            “Oh, right.” Doctor Watson nods. “That’s good to hear. I can’t imagine there’s much money in detective work.”

            “It depends on the case.” Sherlock shrugs. Doctor Watson is concerned about him. Sherlock finds that he likes that quite a bit.

            “Sounds like you get into a lot of trouble,” Doctor Watson says, sitting down on the edge of Sherlock’s bed.

            “You have no idea.” Sherlock grins and starts to tell Doctor Watson about a case he solved involving a poisonous snake. Doctor Watson is a captive audience and Sherlock discovers he can’t stop talking. He wants Doctor Watson to hear every story he has to tell. He wants the good doctor to keep looking at him like that. Like he’s something wonderful.

            “Fantastic,” Doctor Watson says once Sherlock finishes another story. “Absolutely brilliant.” Doctor Watson checks his watch. “Oh god, I’ve completely lost track of time. I have my rounds to do and your really should rest.” Doctor Watson stands up and heads towards the door. Sherlock thinks that the doctor’s retreating back is the worst thing he’s ever seen.

            “Just a minute, doctor,” he calls out before he can stop himself.

            “Hmm?” Doctor Watson hums from the doorway.

            “Will you tell me your name?”

            Doctor Watson smiles and it makes Sherlock’s stomach fill with butterflies. “You’re a detective,” John answers with a wink. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out on your own.”

 

                                                            ***

 

            John. His name is John. Doctor John Watson. It’s a good name and Sherlock can’t stop saying it in his head over and over. It makes him feel a bit tingly and his toes curl against the sheets.

            He had snuck out of bed the night before and wandered around the halls of St. Bart’s with his IV in tow. He had found John’s office and broken in. He’d looked through John’s papers, finding his name easily. He then went on to search for other relevant information. John had no pictures on his desk so that was less than helpful. Still, if John was married or in a serious relationship, wouldn’t he have pictures of that person?

            He wants to test John to learn more about him. He can’t tell yet whether John is interested or not. John seems to be checking on Sherlock more frequently than other patients. Sherlock has memorized the sound of John’s footsteps and can hear him when he goes to other rooms in the hospital wing. No one else seems to be getting the attention that Sherlock gets. He finds that the knowledge of this makes a warmth bloom in his chest.

            John had come in while Sherlock had been with the drugs counselor. Sherlock had made faces at John as the counselor spoke. John had had to bite down on his hand to keep from laughing.

            “Alright then, Sherlock?” John inquires, sitting down and checking Sherlock’s pulse. Sherlock tries to keep it steady but it jumps at the contact. From the small smile playing on his lips, Sherlock assumes John felt it too.

            “Yes, I’m fine,” Sherlock answers, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

            “You look much better,” John informs him. Sherlock is horrified to think of what he must have looked like before. At least John sees the improvement of what Sherlock could be. “I think we’ll probably be able to get you out of here by tomorrow.”

            Sherlock’s face falls. He doesn’t want to leave John. He needs to find out specific things and gather more data so that he can make John like him. John’s phone number would be a good start. He found John’s business card on his desk the night before but it had only included his office phone number, not his mobile. Annoying to say the least.

            “Oi,” John calls out gently, rubbing his thumb over the back of Sherlock’s hand absentmindedly. The motion makes Sherlock’s cheeks heat up. “No need to look like I just kicked your puppy.”

            Sherlock immediately schools his expression. “It’s just that my brother will insist that I come live with him on my discharge from the hospital.” It isn’t a complete lie. Mycroft does tend to get irritatingly protective after Sherlock’s overdoses. He wouldn’t put it past Mycroft to force a living arrangement.

            “Well, that’s natural,” John responds. “I think he’s right to worry about you.”

            “Do you?”

            “Do I what?”

            “Worry about me?” Sherlock bites his bottom lip. He hadn’t really meant to ask it, but it’s too late now.

            John licks his lips and smiles. “Of course,” John tells him softly. “As your doctor, I want you to take care of yourself.”

            Sherlock sighs softly. A very pragmatic response. He’s disappointed.

            “Now, why don’t you tell me another one of your stories?” John asks, changing the subject entirely.

            Sherlock opens his mouth to begin a new story when the door to his room bursts open. Sherlock finds himself terribly annoyed at the interruption. He’s been robbed of John’s reaction, which Sherlock adores.

            Victor walks into the room and hurries over to the bed. “Sherlock, my god, are you alright?”

            Before Sherlock can respond, his lips are captured in a hungry kiss. He kisses Victor back more out of instinct than desire. He notices that John vacates the bed fairly quickly and more is the pity.

            Victor finally pulls back and pets Sherlock’s hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in hospital?”

            “My phone died,” Sherlock responds, gesturing vaguely at his mobile sitting dead on the table.

            “I was worried sick about you,” Victor says, pressing kisses to Sherlock’s hairline. Sherlock wants to shove him away until his eyes land on John in the doorway. He's standing just behind Victor in Sherlock's line of sight. There’s an almost pained expression on John’s face and _oh,_ that is fascinating. Jealousy. It has to be jealousy, or at least Sherlock finds himself hoping it is. He’s definitely interested and Sherlock takes that as a very good sign.


	2. I'm Just Suggesting

He has a boyfriend. Of course he has a boyfriend. Interesting, charming blokes like Sherlock Holmes can’t be single. Life isn’t that fair.

            Not that John has any intention of doing anything with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock is a patient, for one, and a junkie, for another. It would be a terrible, awful, stupid idea to get involved with him. It doesn’t mean that John is completely immune to Sherlock’s good looks and brilliant mind. He’s unlike anyone John has ever met before and John is fascinated.

            He also gets the vague idea that Sherlock is interested in him as well. He has no idea why, but he is always thankful to have those sharp grey eyes pointed in his direction. Having that man’s focus is better than anything else John has experienced. He knows he should keep his distance before he becomes too enamored.

            Still, best to let things stay as they are now. Sherlock will be released the next morning and that will be the end of it. John won’t see him again unless Sherlock is readmitted to the hospital. That is not something John wishes for under any circumstances.

            John goes to Sherlock’s room to say goodbye to him. John isn’t on shift the next morning, so this is his last chance to see Sherlock. There is a heaviness in his chest, like a tug at his heart, that he ignores. Perhaps he can convince Sherlock to tell him one more outlandish story before he goes.

            John is barely through the door when he hears it swing shut. Not even a second later, John is pressed back against it and Sherlock is crowding him. Sherlock is close, much too close, and his eyes are shining with intent.

            “Sherlock?” John calls out tentatively. “What’s going on?”

            “I need your phone,” Sherlock informs him. “It’s urgent.”

            “Oh, um, okay.” John nods but realizes there’s no way to fish his phone out of his pocket with Sherlock standing flush against him. At least, no way for him to do it without touching bits of Sherlock. “Mind taking a step back?”

            “I’m quite fine where I am,” Sherlock responds, his mouth quirking up into a smirk.

            John sighs and reaches for his mobile. His knuckles brush up against the front of Sherlock’s hospital gown and John feels what can only be Sherlock’s cock. He clears his throat and focuses on the task at hand.

            Sherlock lowers his head. “Something wrong, doctor?” he purrs, his voice a low rumble. It’s completely unfair for a nineteen-year-old to have a voice that deep. Dreadfully unfair.

            John clears his throat and manages to get his phone out. He hands it to Sherlock and expects Sherlock to back up. Instead, Sherlock stays right where he is. John is sandwiched between Sherlock and the door. He can’t move without shoving Sherlock away, but John is cautious about hurting his patient.

            Sherlock takes the phone and begins typing quickly. John has never seen someone’s thumbs flying so fast. In just a few seconds, Sherlock is sliding his hand into John’s pocket, returning his phone to him. John can’t bite back to small gasp that escapes his lips.

            “Oh, you are interested,” Sherlock whispers, ghosting his lips over John’s neck. John feels his body shiver at the almost contact. “It’s lovely to have confirmation of my hypothesis.”

            “Sherlock, please step back,” John manages to say evenly.

            “Why?” Sherlock inquires, his lips brushing against John’s chin.

            “We’re not doing this,” John informs him, putting his hand up just in time to stop Sherlock kissing him on the lips. Sherlock pouts against John’s hand and John can’t help laughing at the sight. It makes Sherlock look even younger. John puts his hand down and slips out from against Sherlock.

            “But you want to,” Sherlock whines petulantly. “Your pupils are already dilating.”

            John sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sherlock, you have a boyfriend.”

            “Oh him,” Sherlock says dismissively. “Don’t worry about him.”

            John has never heard anything so callous in his life. “Sherlock! You can’t just – that’s not on!”

            “What?” It’s clear from Sherlock’s face that he doesn’t understand what he said wrong. That is troubling in its own right.

            John shakes his head. “You don’t get to just pretend you don’t have a boyfriend,” John informs him. “It doesn’t work like that.”

            “Putting aside Victor for the moment, what are your other trepidations about me?” Sherlock asks and he looks so young in that moment that John just wants to give him a hug. It seems that Sherlock is not used to being turned down, not that John can imagine anyone being foolish enough to turn away someone that gorgeous. No one except his idiot self.

            John licks his suddenly dry lips and Sherlock stares with such intent that it makes John feel self-conscious. Victor. Like John really needs to know his name. Now he knows he won’t be able to stop obsessing about it.

            “Well, for one thing, I’m not gay,” John tells him, hoping that will make Sherlock back off.

            “Lie,” Sherlock shoots back immediately.

            John sputters at that.

            “Or at the very least you are embroidering the truth,” Sherlock clarifies. “You may not be homosexual but you are interested in me.”

            “Yes, as a _person_ Sherlock. It doesn’t mean I want to shag you.”

            “Wrong,” Sherlock answers in a clipped tone as if John’s refusal is beginning to annoy him. “Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I’m stupid, John.”

            “I know that.”

            “I’m able to recognize indicators of sexual attraction.”

            John has listened to Sherlock’s stories over the past couple of days; he knows that’s probably true. Even so, John is not about to give in. “You’re also my patient.”

            “I won’t be after tomorrow.”

            Sherlock presses his thigh between John’s legs and John nearly collapses. _Oh Christ,_ when did he start getting hard? He’s been so distracted by Sherlock that he hadn’t even noticed that he was already sporting a semi.

            Sherlock grins, the insufferable prick, and begins to rub against John. He’s also aroused and John thinks he’s facing an uphill battle trying to out logic Sherlock Holmes.

            “Sherlock,” John groans, tipping his head back against the door.

            “Yes, that,” Sherlock growls as he kisses John hungrily. “Do that again.”

            John is drowning in sensations. Sherlock’s lips are full and soft against his own. His tongue wet and invading in the best possible way, making John moan into Sherlock’s mouth. His hands are everywhere as if cataloging John’s body and somehow that is extremely hot instead of unsettling. John thinks he might just come apart if Sherlock were to pull away.

            And that strong, muscular thigh is pressing against John in slow, steady rhythms, making John whimper in need. It’s fairly undignified, but John is too far gone to care.

            Sherlock breaks the kiss and his lips trail down John’s neck. John manages to sink his fingers into Sherlock’s hair as the younger man begins to nibble at John’s neck.

            “Oh Christ,” John groans out. His eyes refocus on Sherlock’s bed behind them. He thinks about shoving Sherlock onto the bed and ripping the hospital gown right off him. Then suddenly his mind thinks of Victor who had been kissing Sherlock on that bed not five hours ago. He has to stop this. He has to be an adult.

            He tugs on Sherlock’s hair, pulling Sherlock off of him. Sherlock huffs in annoyance. “If you’re worried about which of us is the dominant partner, you don’t have to, I’m perfectly willing to let you top me.”

            John bites back a moan. Sherlock’s voice has become even deeper with arousal and John can just imagine sinking into that perfect arse. It’s a beautiful image in his mind, shoving Sherlock over the bed and driving into him, making Sherlock call out his name with that wonderful voice.

            John snaps back to the present where he has to derail this situation. Sherlock is like a flashing warning sign and John is not going to ignore that, no matter how perfect Sherlock’s lips are. He’s young, a junkie, a patient, and not available. John won’t let himself do something so stupid, no matter how badly he wants to.

            “Sherlock, we can’t do this,” John informs him.

            “I believe we were just expertly proving that we _can,_ ” Sherlock responds, his lips pursing. It’s adorable.

            “Okay, we shouldn’t do this,” John amends. “It’s wrong and unethical. I can’t just go around shagging my patients, especially not ones with heroin habits and boyfriends.”

            Sherlock scowls and steps away. “So the drug use is a problem as well?”

            “Thought that one would have been obvious, mate,” John says, smiling softly. “After all, you’re the one who deduced about my sister.”

            Sherlock groans in frustration. “John, you’re being very stubborn.”

            “Sherlock, I’m being reasonable,” John counters. “This can’t happen. I’m sorry. That’s just the way things are. Besides, I’m not as interesting as you think I am.”

            “Wrong.”

            John looks up at Sherlock in surprise. Sherlock’s gaze has zeroed in on John and it is terrifying and exhilarating all at once. John’s breath hitches and he knows he has to remove himself from this situation or they’ll be right back where they started. Although his cock would enjoy that immensely, John isn’t going to let himself fall further down the rabbit hole. He ignores his rapidly beating heart and straightens himself out.

            “Take care of yourself, Sherlock,” John says quietly, giving Sherlock a quick kiss on the cheek before slipping out of his room. John finds an empty room and locks himself in the toilet. It takes less than a minute to wank himself off. As the evidence washes away down the sink, John believes that to be the end of it.

            And maybe, just maybe, a small part of him hopes that he’s wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to stick to posting on Mondays and Fridays. So hopefully I'll have chapter 3 up by Friday! Also, if anyone was wondering, the title of this work comes from the Marianas Trench song of the same name.


	3. You And I Might Not Be The Best Thing

Sherlock is irritable and more than usual. He’s stretched out on his sofa unsure whether what he’s feeling is sexual frustration or just plain old boring frustration. Lestrade hasn’t phoned with a case. Victor is on holiday with his family. There’s nothing to alleviate Sherlock’s boredom.

To top it all off, John hasn’t gotten in contact. Sherlock had put his number into John’s mobile when he’d borrowed it. He thought for sure John would get in contact even if it were just to check up on him. At this point, Sherlock would take whatever he could get.

He flips over onto his side with his back to the room. He stares at the tan leather of the sofa and tries to work the problem. He could always text John. He had his number now and there was nothing stopping him from doing it. But he isn’t exactly anxious to get rejected again.

It’s _hateful._ Sherlock has a puzzle he cannot solve, because John is good and Sherlock is not. He would have to change himself quite a bit to have John in his life and Sherlock doesn’t want to alter himself. He will not be beholden to John Watson and his changeable moods.

The kiss had been good, frighteningly, bone meltingly good. Sherlock has no doubt that the sex would also be fantastic. John Watson is a man who knows how to use his hands.

Sherlock shivers and slides his hand into his pyjama bottoms. Before he can do anything, he hears footsteps on the stairs. He pulls his hand out but doesn’t look as the door opens. He knows those footsteps.

“Go away, Mycroft,” Sherlock growls. He’s not in the mood for his brother.

“I see you’re still in a foul mood after your little trip to the hospital,” Mycroft notes, sitting down in one of the chairs by the fireplace. “I gave you a chance to recover before I came calling.”

“Whatever it is you want, Mycroft, the answer is no,” Sherlock tells him resolutely. “Good day.”

Mycroft lets out a heavy sigh. "I've called our parents and let them know of your...condition. They threatened to end their trip through America early. I told them not to bother. I gave them my reassurance that I would look after you."  
  
"Mycroft, having you looking after me would surely send me into a relapse," Sherlock informs him with a scowl on his face.

  
“What of this doctor fellow, then?”

Every fiber of his being tightens as Mycroft mentions John. He sits up, quick as a whip, and stares at Mycroft. “What about him?”

“You seem quite _distracted_ as of late,” Mycroft says, his voice dripping with other meaning.

“I’m not distracted,” Sherlock spits back.

“I’m all for it if it means severing your ties with Victor Trevor.” Mycroft crosses his legs. “I never did like him. He’s enabled your little drug habit and he seems to have no backbone to speak of.”

Sherlock glares at his brother. “I don’t need or want your approval, Mycroft.”

“No, you’ve made that quite clear,” Mycroft says with a sigh. “You know I’m concerned about you.”

“Yes.”

“I believe this John Watson has the potential to be a good influence on you.”

Sherlock nearly chokes. “That’s preposterous.”

“You haven’t partaken in your particular vice since you returned from the hospital. It’s been a week and a half.”

“I’m still in recovery,” Sherlock answers but they can both hear how weak an argument it is.

“I could help you, you just have to ask, brother mine.”

“Mycroft, are you offering to – to _give me_ John Watson?” Sherlock’s eyes widen in terror at the thought.

“Of course not,” Mycroft responds evenly. “John Watson is not in my power to give. I’m merely offering my counsel if you want it.”

“What do you know about it?” Sherlock snaps.

“You won’t ensnare Doctor Watson through your usual means,” Mycroft informs him. “You’ve gotten too used to simply batting your eyelashes and watching men fall for you. You’ll have to actually _try_ with this one, Sherlock. It’ll take effort on your part.”

Sherlock tugs his fingers through his hair. “I _know_ that.”

“He was quite fascinated with your cases, don’t you think?” Mycroft says, standing up. His meaning is clear. “You’ll have to use unconventional means to get this one. He’s not like your usual fare.”

If looks could kill, Sherlock would be hiding Mycroft’s body right now.

“Perhaps if getting him proves a challenge, you won’t throw this one away quite so easily.”

Mycroft gives Sherlock a small nod and walks out of Sherlock’s flat. The door just barely has time to close before Sherlock lobs a pillow at it.

 

                                                ***

 

Sherlock stares at his mobile. He hates to think about taking Mycroft’s advice, but he knows his stupid, fat brother is right. The way John would listen to him talk about his cases made it clear he was fascinated by the life Sherlock led. If John had just been a bit more immoral, Sherlock is certain he would have had him already.

He thinks about what to write to John to make him interested. He doesn’t have a case at the moment or else he would simply tell John about it. Maybe even ask him along if John would be amendable to such a thing.

It’s stupid and frustrating to not get what he wants. John is a stone on the riverbed and Sherlock is the water crashing against it. John will be moved, Sherlock is certain of that. But Mycroft is right, it’s going to take some time.

Sherlock has a sulk of epic proportions and buries his face in the pillow that isn’t currently taking up residence by the door. He wants to forget himself for a few hours. His eyes wander to the fireplace where he has a stash of cocaine behind one of the brinks. He knows Mycroft must have searched his flat after finding him. He hopes that Mycroft hadn’t found that particular hiding place. Maybe Mycroft’s laziness has saved Sherlock the effort of having to go out and get more.

Instead, Sherlock finds his pack of cigarettes in his dressing gown pocket and lights one. He stares up at the ceiling as he slowly releases the smoke from his mouth. His mind turns again to John Watson. What is he to do about John Watson?

His phone is in his hand and he slides it through his fingers as he thinks. The nicotine gives him a delightful buzz even if it’s not the one he wants. It is sufficient for the moment.

He stares at his mobile screen and wonders what a man like John Watson would want to hear. Some kind of reassurance, probably. Mentioning their kiss might be in poor taste and put John on his guard. It’s all so damnably frustrating.

Sherlock wants to be impressive. He wants to give John a reason to forget all of Sherlock’s transgressions. The task seems almost too big to be accomplished.

Sherlock types out response after response, deleting each of them in turn. None of them sound right. He sounds pathetic in his own mind and he cannot help but think John will hear it too when reading the message.

In the end, Sherlock gets so frustrated that he types without thinking.

 

_Bored. –SH_

He sits and waits. He finishes his cigarette and lights another one. He keeps it sticking out of the corner of his mouth, his hands clutching his phone too tightly to bother with removing it to exhale. His toes curl and uncurl against the leather of the sofa. They are the only part of him truly showing his anxiety, the rest of him is stock still, as he waits for John to text back.

 

**I see you took the liberty of putting your number into my phone.**

Sherlock nearly cries in relief at the thought that John has texted him back. He stumps out the cigarette on the coffee table and sits up. His attention has been successfully captured.

 

            _It was easily accomplished. – SH_

**You arse. Did you borrow my phone just to program your number in?**

 

            _And to get yours in return. – SH_

**You understand that’s a bit troubling.**

_You’re the one who handed over your phone to me. If you wish to be troubled, do so at your own expense. – SH_

**Fair enough.**

            Sherlock waits three whole minutes, unsure of how to continue on the conversation. John has left him with very little to be getting on with.

 

            _Entertain me. – SH_

**Entertain yourself. I’ve got a biopsy in ten minutes.**

_If I could do that I wouldn’t be bored in the first place. – SH_

**That giant intellect of yours can’t come up with something to do?**

_It can. They just all happen to involve cocaine. – SH_

**Sherlock.**

_Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m being good. - SH_

**Good.**

_It is very difficult, though. – SH_

**Well I appreciate your sacrifice, even if you don’t.**

_If I continued to be good would you kiss me again? – SH_

The response takes entirely too long to come. Sherlock is up and pacing while he checks his phone obsessively. He is so distracted that he doesn’t notice the coffee table until his shin has banged into it. Cursing, Sherlock sits down before he can hurt himself further.

            He lights another cigarette and considers sending John something more. Something different. Anything to break this damnable silence. John only has two more minutes until his operation. If Sherlock has to wait hours for a response, he knows he will go completely mad.

 

            Finally, his mobile buzzes with John’s response.

 

            **That would all depend.**

_On? –SH_

**If you still had a boyfriend, for one.**

_What else? – SH_

**Sherlock, as much as I want you to be clean, I don’t want you to do it for me. I would need some kind of reassurance that you were getting clean of your own accord and not just to get my attention. I can assure you, you already have it. You’ve already proven that much. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hesitant about this whole thing.**

_What kind of reassurance would you need? – SH_

Their ten minutes are up and Sherlock knows John would not keep his patient waiting just to text Sherlock. The timing is regrettable. Sherlock needs an answer for how to proceed. He settles back onto the sofa and waits for John’s reply.


	4. Exit, Exit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments so far! I'm glad to hear people are enjoying this story. The next chapter will be posted on Friday. As always, thanks for reading!

John has been called down to the ICU and is busy bandaging people up. There had been some kind of bus crash a few blocks away. At least thirty people had been people rushed to Bart's, needing wounds fixed up and to be checked for concussions. He is in his element, loving having things to do, and being able to help people. It was why he had become a doctor in the first place and he thrived in the chaos.

He is in the middle of checking a man’s arm to see if it is broken or sprained when a police officer walks up to him. “Are you Doctor John Watson?”

“I am,” John answers, standing up.

“I need you to come with me.”

John blinks for a moment. “Is something the matter?”

The man sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “It would be easier if you would just come with me.”

John nods and apologizes to his patient. He makes sure a nurse finishes what he was doing before he falls in line with the police officer. “And you are?” John inquires.

“Inspector Lestrade,” the man replies. “With Scotland Yard.”

“Okay.” John considers this. He has no idea what a police inspector would want with him. “Have I done something wrong?”

Lestrade glances over at him. “Don’t worry, Doctor, you’re not in any trouble,” the inspector assures him. “As for doing something wrong, you’ll have to decide that for yourself when we get there.”

John frowns. He doesn’t understand what the inspector means but he decides to keep his mouth shut until they get to their destination.

They turn a corner and Lestrade leads him into a room. Sitting on the bed is Sherlock Holmes, looking tired and rumpled. His hair is in more disarray than usual and he has substantial bags under his eyes.

“He insisted we bring him here,” Lestrade explains to John. “Wouldn’t let us take him anywhere else and wouldn’t let anyone else see him.”

“John is my doctor,” Sherlock states firmly from the bed.

“We were the other side of London!” Lestrade says in exasperation.

“Sherlock, for Christ’s sake,” John says, his tone chastising, before shaking his head and walking over. “What happened?”

“We were after a jewel thief,” Sherlock explains. He tells John the whole story with Lestrade chipping in bits from the side. Every time he does, Sherlock scowls at him. Clearly there were parts he was leaving out on purpose, probably to seem more impressive.

As he speaks, John checks the back of his head where he had been bleeding. They get to the part in the story where Sherlock had chased after the thief on his own without realizing the man had an accomplice. Sherlock had been bludgeoned with a piece of wood.

“You idiot,” John scolds and he finishes bandaging Sherlock up.

Sherlock’s eyes flicker up to John’s face. “It was necessary.”

“Putting yourself at risk is never necessary,” John informs him sternly. He stares at Sherlock for a moment to make sure he know John means it. He can't help it when his face softens at the sight of Sherlock appearing so vulnerable. “Oh wait, I forgot who I was talking to.”

Sherlock grins back at him.

Lestrade shifts uncomfortably. “So is everything fine here?”

“No need to worry, Lestrade, I’m in perfectly good hands,” Sherlock assures him, never taking his eyes off John.

“Cheers,” Lestrade answers before slipping out of the room.

John sighs and rubs his thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone. His pale skin makes the bags under his eyes all the more prominent. “Okay, when was the last time you ate something?”

Sherlock considers. “Three days ago.”

“Jesus.” John contemplates what to do first. “How did you manage to make it to nineteen when you have no sense of self-preservation?”

“I eat when it’s necessary,” Sherlock responds.

“You’re a mess,” John informs him. “You need someone to take care of you.”

“That’s why I need a doctor.”

Sherlock’s words drip with double meaning. John isn’t about to engage him, especially not when Sherlock is in such a state.

“Okay, food and then sleep,” John orders, going over to the phone so that he can have a tray sent in.

Sherlock’s hand shoots out and grabs John’s wrist. “No.”

“Sherlock –“

“The case isn’t solved yet.”

“Well the thieves will keep for another twelve hours,” John answers calmly. “Plenty of time for you to catch them after a good rest.”

“You’re fine with letting these criminals remain on the streets of London?” Sherlock asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“You’ll get whatever they steal back once you catch them,” John reasons, breaking his wrist free from Sherlock’s grip. “Now lie down. Doctor’s orders.”

Sherlock huffs but he lies down on the bed. John nearly sighs in relief as he orders Sherlock some food.

John sits on the edge of Sherlock’s bed when he’s done. He plans to stay long enough to make sure Sherlock eats all of his food and then he’s back to help with the bus crash. That is assuming there will be anything left to do when he returns.

“I’m still being good,” Sherlock says softly.

John does a quick inhale at the words. He glances over at Sherlock and smiles. “I think that’s debatable at best.”

“I meant about the cocaine.”

“I know what you meant.”

“So?” Sherlock challenges. His face looks almost hopeful and it makes John’s stomach flutter.

“So?” John counters, raising his chin in defiance. “What about the boyfriend?”

Sherlock frowns. “He’s been on holiday in Italy with his family.”

“Well then,” John says, standing up. He considers that matter settled but it’s clear from Sherlock’s face that he isn’t about to let it go.

Before Sherlock can say anything more, a nurse comes in with his tray. She smiles at John as she walks past and sets the food down. He nods at her in response.

“There you are, Doctor Watson, everything you ordered,” Nurse Melinda says, brushing her dark hair off her shoulder.

“Thanks,” John says, grinning at her. “It’s much appreciated.”

From where he’s standing, he can see Sherlock silently fuming. “Yes, thank you, that will be all.”

Melinda looks at Sherlock as if startled by the dismissal in Sherlock’s tone. “See you later, Doctor Watson.”

She hurries out of the room.

“Bye,” John barely gets out before the door closes behind her. He turns his attention to Sherlock. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Sherlock sniffs. “She’s clearly interested in you,” he grumbles.

“So what, Sherlock?” John asks in frustration. “You have a _boyfriend_. How are you in any position to be jealous of anyone.”

“I’m not jealous,” Sherlock spit out.

“You could have fooled me.”

Both men grow silent. The only sound in the room is their angry breathing from being worked up. John belatedly realizes that his hands are curled into fists.

“My good behavior is contingent on my being rewarded for it,” Sherlock informs him.

John’s jaw drops at the implication. “Sherlock, you don’t get to – to _bully_ me into a relationship!” John says, incredulous.

“No?” Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t work like that,” John informs him, as calmly as he’s able. “I told you before that I didn’t want you getting clean on my account. Now you’re to use again if I don’t – what? Date you? Kiss you? Fuck you? Just what is it you want from me, Sherlock?”

“All of the above,” Sherlock informs him evenly. “You’re idiotic if you think I would settle for just one.”

            John isn’t sure whether that last statement is more compliment or insult. “Sherlock –“ John starts, pinching the bridge of his nose. He isn’t sure what to say in response to that. “Eat your food.”

            Sherlock scowls at him and begrudgingly starts to eat the food on his tray. John pulls up a chair and sits down in it. Sitting on the bed is too intimate and John needs a bit of distance.

            “Sherlock,” John says, composing himself. “I’m interested in you. You know that and there’s no point in denying it after what’s happened between us. However, I will not be with you until you’re single. That is non-negotiable. I’m not going to be a bit of rough on the side for you. I also do not appreciate the way you’ve gone about this. I’m not a man to be pushed and prodded into being with someone. There are very real circumstances that keep me from pursuing anything further with you. So, for the time being, you and I will be friends.”

            “Friends,” Sherlock echoes, saying the word as if it’s something unpleasant.

            John chuckles. “Yes, friends. That’s all I’m willing to give you at the moment. You asked me what kind of reassurance I would need. This is the best I can come up with. I need to know that you can be my friend, just my friend, until you're clean.”

            "For how long?"

            "I have no idea," John responds. "Until I'm satisfied and not a moment sooner."

            Sherlock sulks down into his bed, his arms across his chest. It makes John laugh harder.

            “Sherlock, it’s not the end of the world,” John assures him. “We’ll just carry on as we have been.”

            John reaches out and gently pushes to hair off Sherlock’s forehead. Before he can think better of it, he bends down and kisses the spot he’s just revealed. It’s a tender moment and not one shared by friends. Still, John has affection for the man that apparently cannot be contained.

            “Oh, and Sherlock?” John’s voice grows hard and dark. He tightens his hand in Sherlock’s hair. “If you ever use your addiction against me again, I will cut you out of my life completely. I won’t even patch you up the next time you do something terminally stupid.”

            John looks down and sees that Sherlock’s lips are parted and he’s panting softly. He’s _aroused,_ which is not what John had been going for, but is a wonderful discovery. “Do you understand?”

            Sherlock nods as much as he’s able with John holding his hair. John smiles and kisses Sherlock’s forehead again before releasing his hair. “Good.” John straightens up. “Finish your food and then get some sleep. I won’t release you from the hospital until I’m satisfied that you’re well rested.”

            Sherlock’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Yes, John.” Something about the submissive quality of the statement and Sherlock’s voice sends a jolt of arousal down to John’s cock.

            “Good lad,” John praises him. He leaves the room before he can do something regrettable.


	5. Somehow I Guessed It Right

_Do you know anything about poker? – SH_

           

            Sherlock lies on his sofa as he waits for John to respond. He has a case that involves a man that has gone missing. He was known for having some gambling debts, losing quite a bit at a local poker table. Sherlock has never had any interest in poker, but now the case demands he take up important hard drive space with it.

 

            **A bit. Why?**

Sherlock smiles at the reply. It was exactly what he had been hoping for.

 

            _221B Baker Street. Come at your earliest convenience. – SH_

**What is this about, Sherlock?**

_Case. Need your help. – SH_

            **Ok. Fine, I’ll be there at 7. You can pay for my help with food. I’m starving.**

Sherlock’s smile widens. Not only will he have John alone at his flat, they’ll also be eating a meal together. Sherlock isn’t particularly hungry, but he knows John will be happy to see him eating. He needs to make this feel as close to a date as possible, so John will give up the idea of just being friends, and see Sherlock as a viable romantic option despite his shortcomings.

            He calls Angelo’s and orders some food for the two of them to be delivered at seven. He adds a bottle of wine as a second thought. Perhaps alcohol will relax John and make him more pliable. Sherlock is starting to feel a little bit desperate.

            He wants John. He wants John more than he can express. He’s never had to put some much effort into something before. All just to ensnare a short, blond, insignificant doctor. But that’s not accurate at all. John can be tall when he wants to be, holding himself up to greater heights than his stature allows. His hair isn’t completely blond either, a bit darker and almost brown. It lies somewhere in between. John could never be insignificant, not where Sherlock is concerned. The only thing he got right was in calling John a doctor. He is usually so expert in his analysis. John is throwing him off his game.

            By the time six rolls around, Sherlock is pacing nervously. He needs this evening to go right. He needs to be charming and appealing so that John will like him. He puts on a button up shirt and nice trousers, expensive clothes that make him look older. The last thing he wants to do is remind John of his age.

            At ten of, the food arrives. Sherlock doesn’t have to pay for it but he tips the delivery boy. He takes the food to the table in the sitting room. He considers setting everything up on the sofa so that they’d be forced to sit side by side. He disregards it. He shouldn’t come off as so desperate so quickly.

            When the bell for downstairs rings, Sherlock nearly jumps out of his skin. He rushes downstairs, his footsteps thundering against the wood in his haste, and wrenches the door open. John is smiling on the other side and Sherlock's stomach does a strange fluttering thing.

            “Hello,” John says cheerfully, stepping inside.

            Something inside Sherlock’s brain grows taut and then snaps. John Watson is here. At his flat. Alone. He’s smiling and standing here smelling like antiseptic, shampoo and the warm aroma of tea. Somehow Sherlock didn’t believe John would actually come.

            John steps inside, crowding into Sherlock’s personal space. Sherlock is vaguely aware that he should step back and let John through, but his feet won’t move.

            “Alright, Sherlock?” John asks, placing his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. His hands are warm and Sherlock feels like he should have planned better for this. He’s ill-equipped for this.

            “Hey,” John calls out, sliding his hands up and into Sherlock’s hair. His fingers are searching for something and Sherlock belatedly realizes that John is checking his head wound. He’s feeling along the harsh line where John stitched him up. “Where are you? Come back to Earth, please.”

            Sherlock’s lips twitch with a smile. “I’ve never left.”

            “Oh no,” John argues, sliding his fingers through Sherlock’s thick curls. “You have to be an alien from another planet. Somewhere there’s an entire planet full of ridiculously tall people will eyes that change color and impossible cheekbones.”

            Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed as John continues to touch him. “I assure you it’s all just genetics.”

            John sighs. “Lucky bastard.”

            Sherlock reaches up and wraps his hands around John’s wrists. His thumbs press against John’s pulse point and he mentally calculates John’s heartbeat. Slightly elevated, which is a very good sign. John smiles, as if he knows exactly what Sherlock is doing, but doesn’t mind it in the slightest. For a moment they just touch each other and breathe. It’s horribly intimate and the air feels thick in Sherlock’s lungs.

            John’s looking up at Sherlock with his eyes searching for something. Sherlock desperately wants him to find whatever it is he’s looking for.

            “Come on, I’m starving,” John says, cutting the silence. He gently removes his hands from Sherlock’s hair and grip.

            Sherlock turns around and leads John upstairs to his flat. His heart his pounding so loudly that he can barely hear himself think.

            “Oh thank god,” John says when he sees the food laid out for them. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten.”

            “John, just because I don’t eat that often myself doesn’t mean I can’t cater to your needs.”

            “And is this one of my needs?” John asks, his eyebrow raised as he lifts up the bottle of wine.

            Sherlock suddenly goes cold. John’s sister. Perhaps the alcohol is an unwelcome addition to the table. He panics for about fifteen seconds, until John takes the corkscrew and expertly opens the bottle, pouring them each a glass. Sherlock nearly sighs in relief and the tension seeps out of him. Sherlock feels this evening will very much be like walking through a minefield. He has no idea what step might set John off.

            John sits down in one of the chairs and inspects the food. He takes the container with the lasagna and starts to eat. Sherlock smiles and sits down across from him. He takes the ravioli and begins to eat as well.

            “So,” John says, taking his wine glass and lifting it to his lips. “Tell me about this case.”

                                                                        ***

 

            After dinner, they set up the table to play poker. John explains the rules of five card draw and then shuffles the deck. His hands are strong and sure as the deals.

They’ve finished the bottle of wine by the time the second hand is dealt. Sherlock goes to the fridge and gets a bottle of champagne that a client gave him. He never thought he’d have occasion to drink it. Now he’s glad he didn’t throw it away.

John is flushed from the alcohol and looks even more stunning than usual. It seems that he cannot stop giggling. “Oh, fancy!” he says, taking the bottle of champagne and opening it. He pours them both glasses and then sips. He giggles again as the bubbles tickle his lips.

“John,” Sherlock says, sitting back down in his chair. “Please concentrate.”

“Yes, alright.” John tries to school his expression into something more serious. He almost manages it before he’s giggling again. His hands are less assured as he deals again.

After a dozen or so more hands, Sherlock feels like he has a better understanding of the game. He’s beating John two out of three times. He wonders if it’s because he’s getting good at it or because John is impairing himself with the alcohol.

The champagne is gone and John goes in search of something else. He’s giddy and sloppy in his movements. He bangs cupboards shut in his search. He finally comes back with a bottle of brandy that Mycroft had given Sherlock as a house-warming gift. Sherlock had sworn never to drink it, but John has no such reservations.

John is going to be sick if he keeps this up. Sherlock finds he enjoys this idea very much. Then John will have to spend the night. John flops down onto the sofa, his legs spread wide in almost an invitation. Sherlock wants to crawl between them and nuzzle his face against John’s crotch.

John pats the part of the sofa next to him and Sherlock makes his way over.

“I feel good,” John murmurs in his ear. “Do you feel good?”

“Yes.”

John smiles and looks up at Sherlock. He takes a sip of the brandy and continues looking. Sherlock feels his face heat up slightly under the gaze.

“Do you ever have a wank thinking about me?” asks John. Sherlock is slightly caught off guard by the blunt delivery. He stammers for a moment as his face turns completely red.

“Yes.” Sherlock’s voice is hoarse. He’s been partially aroused all evening just from the way John has been looking at him. Now his cock is rapidly showing interest.

“I want to see.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen in surprise. “John?” his voice is low and tentative.

John simply smiles in return. “Go on then.” He settles into the sofa and looks at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. This is not how he expected the evening to go. “You want to watch me masturbate,” he says as evenly as possible.

“Yes, I do,” John says, shifting closer. “I _really_ do.”

Sherlock groans in response.

“I can’t touch you,” John purrs in Sherlock’s ear, his breath hot. “But I can watch you. That would be all right. Wouldn’t it?”

“But I want you to touch me.”

“I know,” John tells him with a grin. “That’s why I’m not going to. I told you, I’m not going to be the other man.”

“You’re not, John. You’re not. God, can’t you see that?” Sherlock asks desperately.

“What I see is a bloke with an erection that needs dealing with,” John responds, his tone flirty.

Sherlock groans in frustration and palms himself through his trousers.

“Yes,” John hisses, watching Sherlock’s hand with rapt attention. “That’s it, love, tease yourself.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen. He hadn’t expected John to be such an active participant in his wank. The thought of John talking him off has his entire body thrumming.

“What next?” Sherlock asks, his voice breaking with need.

“Keep teasing,” John responds, taking another sip of brandy. “Rub a bit faster, that’s it.”

Sherlock moans and tosses his head back as he rubs himself through the fabric of his expensive trousers. “John,” he calls out in need. The fact that John refuses to touch him makes him feel almost insane.

“You’re looking a bit flushed, love, maybe you should unbutton your shirt,” John instructs.

Sherlock can’t get the buttons on his shirt open fast enough. His fingers tremble in his urgency, making his movements clumsy. He tugs it off and tosses it across the room. John giggles for a moment until his eyes are sliding down Sherlock’s body, taking it in. Those deep blue eyes are watching him and Sherlock isn’t used to being on this end of things. But he wants John to see. He feels almost manic in his need. Sherlock shifts for a moment until John groans.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” breathes out John.

Sherlock smiles and slides a hand up. He gently touches his throat and neck, calling John’s attention to them. Then he trails down to his nipples and gives one a teasing tug. He moans and arches at the feeling. He hears John do a sharp intake of breath and when he looks over, John’s eyes have gone dark with want.

Sherlock undoes his trousers and slips them down to his ankles. His boxer-briefs are tight and his cock is straining against the fabric. John licks his lips as he stares at it.

“What now, John?” Sherlock asks.

“Take those off,” John growls.

Sherlock shucks off his pants until he’s completely naked on the sofa. “Are you sure you don’t want to touch me?” teases Sherlock, his hand sliding down to grasp himself. His hand slips over silky skin as he strokes himself evenly.

John’s breathing is ragged next to him. He shakes his head as if he doesn’t trust himself to respond.

“I think about your hands,” Sherlock informs him. “You’ve got lovely, strong hands. I’m sure you could do all manner of things to me with them.”

John groans and takes a large pull of the brandy.

“I imagine you kissing my neck as your fingers slide inside me,” Sherlock tells him, never taking his eyes off John. He wonders how long John’s resolve will last.

John’s entire body looks tense as he keeps himself from doing anything.

“You’re a doctor, I’m sure you’d have no trouble finding my prostate,” Sherlock says, biting his bottom lip. “You’d make me beg for it, wouldn’t you? You’d finger me until I pleaded for your cock.”

Sherlock sucks on two of his fingers as he continues to work the head of his cock. Precome is gathering at the tip and he works it down the shaft. John is now staring at his mouth and that is just wonderful. This is going better than he expected.

He can see John’s erection tenting his trousers and Sherlock wants it so badly he can taste it. He moans around the fingers in his mouth and John lets out a little whimper.

Sherlock removes his fingers and slides them down his body, leaving tiny trails of saliva. Putting his feet up on the coffee table, he slips his fingers inside himself. He starts to feel greedy, pushing off the sofa into his own hand and then back down onto his fingers.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John keens. He looks wrecked. “You don’t really need my help, do you?”

“Yes, keep talking, keep talking!” Sherlock begs.

“You’re a bloody marvel, you are,” John says, leaning in to whisper in Sherlock’s ear. “I could spend _days_ working you into this state over and over.

Sherlock is working himself towards his orgasm. He’s starting to feel waves of pleasure coursing through him with each word John says.

“It is taking every bit of my self-control not to bend you over this sofa and show you just how good I can make you feel,” John informs him, his voice gruff.

“John,” he moans out. “Oh god, John, _please!_ ” Sherlock feels desperate.

To his surprise, John grabs him and pulls him into a bruising kiss. That’s all it takes before Sherlock is coming, the sounds of his orgasm being swallowed up by John’s mouth.

Sherlock’s hands still when he’s finished, his body covered in his release. Too soon, John pulls back and Sherlock’s lips still tingle.

John quickly undoes his fly and is stroking himself furiously. “John, please, let me –“

“No.” John cuts him off before he can even finish. “Just stay like that. Just like that, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stares at John’s cock, hard and thick. He nearly salivates at the sight of the head peeking out through John’s hand on every stroke. And then John is coming with a cry of Sherlock’s name. It’s so beautiful that the wind is knocked out of Sherlock for a few moments.

When it’s over, John kisses Sherlock’s temple and smiles at him. “Jesus, that was…that was something else.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock agrees.

“You really shouldn’t have gotten me drunk,” John murmurs, sliding his hand into Sherlock’s hair and petting him sweetly. Sherlock can’t help pressing into the touch. “I tend to get a bit too hands on and horny.”

“I don’t regret it for a second.”

John sighs softly. “We were just supposed to be friends.”

“We are friends.”

“I’ve never done that with any of my other friends,” John informs him, frowning slightly.

“Clearly we’re incapable of staying away from each other.”

John hums and drops his head onto Sherlock’s shoulder. They sit there in a companionable silence until the come on Sherlock’s stomach starts to cool.

“You need a shower,” John whispers softly. “And I need to get home.”

“No, stay the night. You can sleep on the sofa if that would make you more comfortable.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Sherlock.”

“Yes, John.”

John huffs and kisses where Sherlock’s shoulder meets his neck. “Fine, you win.”

Sherlock smiles. “I do so love winning.”


	6. But I still Want You, Don't Mean to Taunt You

            John wakes up in the morning with his back aching from the sofa and a pounding headache. With all the things that went on last night, John isn’t sure which one to regret first. He’s also painfully hard, his morning erection being a bit more persistent than it usually is. The fact of it does nothing for his mood.

            He looks around the room and nearly falls off the sofa when he sees Sherlock staring at him from a chair by the fireplace. “Jesus, Sherlock. How long have you been there?”

            “A few hours.”

            “A few _hours_?” John echoes incredulously. “That’s…unsettling.”

            “You were saying my name in your sleep,” Sherlock informs him, smiling smugly. John wants to go over and kiss that grin off Sherlock’s face, but he stays resolutely where he is.

            John sits up and the blanket falls off his lap. In just his boxers, his erection is fairly obvious and John doesn’t bother to try and hide it. Not from the World’s Most Observant Man.

            Sherlock’s eyes lower and he looks practically ravenous. “Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

            “It’s okay, I get them all the time,” John plays it off as best he can. “They usually go away on their own.”

            Sherlock slides down out of his chair and crawls over like some kind of giant cat looking ready to pounce. “I want to suck you off.”

            “Fuck,” John breathes out.

            “You want me to.” It isn’t a question. He already knows the answer.

            “Sherlock” John’s tone is warning.

            “You won’t let me?”

            Sherlock sits back on his heels and pouts as John simply shakes his head.

            “How long are you going to make me chase you?” Sherlock inquires, placing his hands on John’s thighs.

            “I’m not playing hard to get, Sherlock,” John informs him with a sigh. “You have a boyfriend.” John can’t believe that he has to remind Sherlock of this fact yet again.

            “He doesn’t mind sharing me,” Sherlock answers. “He has before.”

            _Christ,_ that was something John did not need to know. He sinks his hand into Sherlock’s hair and frowns slightly. “If you were mine, I would never let anyone so much as look at you, let alone touch you.

            “John, that’s hardly feasible.” Sherlock is grinning like a lunatic.

            “I’d still _try,”_ John responds softly. He’s suddenly so angry at this absentee boyfriend that has this beautiful creature to call his own. That he’s wasted his opportunity to have Sherlock completely. What kind of idiot would do that?

            John’s own words permeate into his thoughts and he realizes he’s an idiot as well. Perhaps everyone is an idiot where Sherlock Holmes is concerned.

            John tugs on Sherlock’s hair until Sherlock is lying on top of him. He captures Sherlock’s lips and kisses him with just a bit of desperation. His tongue slips into Sherlock’s mouth and dominates it. As he fucks Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue, it elicits a moan unlike anything John’s ever heard.

            Sherlock tears his lips away and buries his face in John’s neck. His breathing in erratic and he’s clinging to John as if his life depends on it.

            “Sherlock?” John calls out, wondering if he miscalculated something.

            “I didn’t know someone could do this to me,” Sherlock whispers, tightening his grip on John’s shirt. “John, I am prepared to give you all of myself and I find that I’m frightened.”

            John smiles and pets Sherlock’s hair lovingly. “No need to be scared, love. I’ve got you.” He brings his other arm around and holds Sherlock to him. He wonders, in some dark part of his brain, if those words are true. Does he have Sherlock or is merely fooling himself?

 

                                                                        ***

 

            John is in the middle of his rounds for the day when his mobile chimes. He doesn’t bother to check, as it is almost certainly Sherlock with some nonsense or other. He’s at work and doesn’t have the time to bother with Sherlock at the moment. Besides, after everything that’s happened between them, John needs a bit of distance to reassess the situation. It’s been a few days since they last spoke.

            It chimes again and again, several times during John’s rounds. He’s resetting a dislocated shoulder when it goes off three times in quick succession. By the time he’s finished his rounds, he’s so annoyed that he’s practically breathing fire.

            He goes into the break room and gets out his mobile. He has 21 text messages. Shaking his head, he begins looking through the onslaught.

           

            _John, I need you. – SH_

_John, it’s an emergency. – SH_

_Why aren’t you answering? – SH_

_Did I do something wrong? –SH_

_Oh no. Obvious. You’re at work. – SH_

_You really should quit your job. It takes up too much of your time. – SH_

_If you’re worried about money you could move into Baker St. I have enough to cover the rent on my own. – SH_

_Although I don’t know if you would take well to being a kept man – SH_

_I suppose you could run a private practice out of our flat. Then you would always be here when I needed you. – SH_

_John, I don’t like being ignored. –SH_

_There can’t be this many sick people. – SH_

_Aren’t there any other doctors at Bart’s that can deal with them? –SH_

_Tell them to go somewhere else! There are plenty of hospitals in London! – SH_

_John! Answer me or I’ll be forced to come down there. – SH_

_Oh wait. I can’t. – SH_

The next message is unmistakably a picture of a cock. Sherlock’s cock to be precise. It is red and swollen looking with Sherlock’s long, pale fingers wrapped around it.

            John swallows hard and is almost afraid to scroll down to the next message. It’s of Sherlock’s mouth and he’s biting onto his bottom lip. John nearly groans out loud.

            He looks around and notices he’s alone in the break room. Without looking at the remainder of the messages, he dials Sherlock.

            “Finally!” Sherlock answers the phone on the first ring. John can hear his heavy breathing and the soft susurrus of skin on skin.

            “Sherlock, what the hell?”

            “I need you, John.”

            “No, Sherlock, you’re having a wank. That is one time when another party is not involved!”

            “Your voice is in my head after the other night,” Sherlock explains. “I can’t figure out what you would say. You’re so wonderfully unpredictable, John.”

            “Are you seriously asking me to talk you off while I’m at work?” John can’t believe the audacity.

            “You’re angry with me.”

            “Oh course I bloody am!” John shouts into the phone. “Sherlock, you can’t just demand all of my time. We’re not even together!”

            “Yet,” adds Sherlock.

            John groans and drops his head down onto one of the counters. “I’m not doing this with you.”

            “John, it’s been over an hour!”

            John freezes at that. “You’ve been wanking for over an hour?”

            “Yes!”

            Something inside John twists. He thinks back and yes, that’s when the messages had started coming in. He feels slightly guilty and that is his rationale for what he does next.

            “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you when you’re finally mine?” John murmurs into the phone, praying he won’t be overheard. “I’m going to own that gorgeous body of yours, Sherlock.”

            Sherlock’s breath hitches. “Tell me more.”

            “For the first time I want to fuck you in front of a mirror,” John tells him, adjusting himself in his trousers. “So I can watch myself sink into your perfect arse. I’ll make you watch just how good I can make you feel. I won’t touch you, you’ll have to get off just from my cock inside you. I’ll make it so good that you won’t be able to help yourself.”

            “John,” Sherlock moans out. John can hear Sherlock stroking himself faster. “More, John, please god, more!”

            “Hmm, so greedy,” John hums. “I bet you won’t be able to get enough of my cock. I’ll make you ride me so you can show me just how badly you want it.”

            “John! Oh fuck, John!” Hearing Sherlock come undone over the phone is heady and thrilling. John wishes he were there to actually see Sherlock.

            “Was it good?” John inquires with a grin.

            “Hmm, very good,” Sherlock purrs. “Thank you.”

            “Um, Sherlock?”

            “Yes, John?”

            “As flattered as I am by your offer, under the circumstances, I don’t think we should move in together,” John informs him.

            “Move in together?”

            “Yes, you, um, you asked me to move into Baker Street and start a private practice,” John reminds him. “I don’t know if you meant it at all, but I, um, yeah, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

            “Why not?”

            “I’m not going to even dignify that with a response.”

            “I think it’s a good idea.”

            “You’re also completely barmy,” John responds, laughing quietly. “Sherlock, we have enough problems at the moment without adding cohabiting a flat into the mix.”

            “From what I recall, your issues with us being together were that I was a patient of yours. I’m not anymore. Next, that I am a junkie, but I haven’t touched anything stronger than alcohol since my overdose. The last was that I have a boyfriend, however I ended things with Victor.”

            “You what?”

            “Are you going to make me repeat the whole thing again?” Sherlock asks in annoyance.

            “You broke up with Victor?”

            “Yes.”

            “You bastard! Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “I’m telling you now.”

            “You complete dickhead,” John says, seething a bit. “I’m out of work at six and then I’m coming over.”

            John hangs up the phone before Sherlock can respond.

 

                                                                        ***

 

            John feels practically murderous as he makes his way up the steps to Sherlock’s flat. The damn prick hadn’t thought it relevant to tell John he was single? John is so angry he had no idea what he is going to do.

            John pounds on the door to Sherlock’s flat and waits. The moment the door opens, John is grabbing at Sherlock and kissing him desperately. “John,” Sherlock murmurs against John’s lips. He allows John to back him up into the room and push him down onto the sofa, which John is grateful for. He’s in no mood to talk or negotiate. He finally has Sherlock all to himself and he’s going to enjoy it.

            They crash less that gracefully onto the sofa and John is trying to get Sherlock’s trousers open while Sherlock is trying to remove John’s shirt and they seem to get tangled up in each other. John giggles and buries his head in Sherlock’s neck.

            “I think we’re both a little too eager,” he notes, pressing kisses to Sherlock’s neck.

            Sherlock groans and arches under John. “John.”

            Sherlock looks a bit lost under John and it makes John’s heart swell. He knows he has to be in charge of this situation before Sherlock flounders. He manages to get Sherlock’s trousers open and begins to stroke him slowly. He swallows up each of the delicious noises Sherlock makes by kissing him hungrily.

            “John,” Sherlock breathes out, finally breaking the kiss. “I want more than just your hand on me.”

            John grins. “And what is it you want?” he asks, nipping at Sherlock’s lower lip.

            “You know what,” Sherlock retorts.

            “I know, I just want to hear you ask for it,” John challenges, thumbing over the head of Sherlock’s cock.

            Sherlock huffs. “I want you to fuck me.”

            “There, was that so hard?” John teases, kissing Sherlock sweetly. He manages to get Sherlock out of his clothes and onto all fours on the sofa. He’s had a lot of time to think about what he will do to Sherlock and he knows this was high on the list.

            He spreads Sherlock’s cheeks and licks teasingly at his hole. He’s rewarded with a deep moan from Sherlock. “Hold still, love,” John instructs him, continuing to tease Sherlock’s hole. He can feel Sherlock tremble and shudder underneath his hands and that is glorious.

           As John slides his tongue into Sherlock’s arse, he reaches around and strokes Sherlock. Sherlock is leaking heavily and he seems wrecked. It only takes a few strokes before Sherlock is coming. He cries out John’s name and claws at the sofa beneath him.

            John pulls back and smiles. “Liked that, did you?”

            Sherlock hums in agreement.

            John gets off the sofa and goes in search of lubricant. There’s nothing in the bathroom, but as John looks in the mirror, he remembers his earlier words. He wants to call Sherlock in, but he decides against it. He’s too impatient and the mirror should be used when he can take his time with it. Besides, he has all the time in the world now.

            He goes into the bedroom and finds a bottle and condoms in the bedside table. He brings both out and finds Sherlock lying on the sofa still trying to catch his breath. It’s a beautiful sight and John drinks it in.

            He sits down on the sofa and pulls Sherlock into his lap so he’s straddling it. Pouring the lubricant onto his fingers, he reaches around and slides them up and down the cleft of Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock groans and shifts on John’s lap.

            “John,” he whines with need.

            John smiles and slips his first finger into Sherlock to the second knuckle. “God, you’re gorgeous,” John whispers, sliding his finger in all the way. He finds Sherlock’s prostate and teases his finger against it. It makes Sherlock writhe in his lap. He grips John’s shoulders and calls out for him.

            “That’s it,” John murmurs, taking his finger out and slipping back in with two. “That’s it, love. I’ve got you.”

            Sherlock falls forward and drops his head onto John’s shoulder. John takes him apart with every brush of his finger. He turns his head and kisses Sherlock.

            He manages to get a third finger in and then his patience snaps. He undoes his trousers and slides the condom onto his aching cock before smearing lube down the shaft.

            “Come on, love,” John says, gripping Sherlock’s arse and lining them up. “Come on, I need it.”

            Sherlock groans in understanding. His eyes are half-lidded and his cock is growing erect again. John watches in rapt fascination as Sherlock sinks down onto his cock. It’s so tight and so good that John needs a moment to catch his breath or it will be over too quickly.

            “John,” Sherlock calls out, tossing his head back. He begins to move and John has never felt anything so fantastic in his life. He holds out for as long as he can and then he’s gripping Sherlock and thrusting up into him, meeting his rhythm.

            “Fuck, Sherlock!” John cries out. He’s close. He wraps his hand around Sherlock’s cock and starts to stroke him quickly, wanting to get him off first.

            Sherlock lets out a strangled cry and comes into John’s hand. He stops moving as he comes down from his orgasm, but that’s fine because John is thrusting up into him with abandon. His entire body goes taut and then releases as he comes hard.

            They both lie there, sweaty and out of breath. John smiles up at Sherlock and runs his clean hand through Sherlock’s curls that are sticking to his forehead. “That was something else,” John whispers, pulling Sherlock down for a kiss. In the back of his mind he registers the sound of footsteps on the stairs, but he’s too preoccupied to care.

            “Sherlock!” A male voice calls out. “I’m back, did you miss me?”

            Sherlock straightens up quickly and John stares up at him in confusion. Behind Sherlock, the door to 221B opens and Victor Trevor is standing there. The smile on his face falls and John realizes in horror what a horrible mistake he made trusting Sherlock Holmes.


	7. If You Leave Now I'll Come Back and Haunt You

Wrong. It’s all wrong. John left in a hurry without so much as looking at Sherlock. He had just gathered up his clothes without a word, not that he needed to say anything, his thoughts were written clearly on his face. John had been seething with anger and Sherlock knows he has ruined thing irrevocably. Now John is gone and he’s forced to listen to Victor go on and on about how betrayed he feels. As if Sherlock _cares_ how Victor feels.

            “Sherlock, are you even listening to me?” Victor asks, staring at him with his hands on his hips.

            “Aren’t you finished yet?” Sherlock snaps in annoyance. He can still feel the slight ache from where John had stretched him open and claimed him. It had been sweaty and desperate. It is the best shag Sherlock has ever had. It felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of them. It had been glorious.

            “Sherlock!” Victor admonishes. “I know you’ve had other men while we were together, but it was always on my terms. I never thought you’d actually cheat on me!”

            “No?” asks Sherlock mildly. Sherlock remembers drug-filled encounters with other men while Victor watched. The idea of it now makes his skin crawl compared to the sweet intimacy of what just occurred with John. At the time it had been thrilling, a way to push aside his boredom. He enjoyed the freedom that his relationship with Victor allowed. It didn't take much to realize that wasn't what he wanted anymore. The thought of anyone but John touching him made him want to wretch. “Why not?”

            Victor stammers for a moment. “What happened to us, Sherlock? We were fine before I went on holiday.”

            Sherlock sighs and tightens his dressing gown around his body. He knows exactly what happened - John Watson. The man had appeared quite suddenly and enraptured Sherlock completely. If Sherlock had known John existed, he would have sought him out sooner. He would have exhausted every resource to find him. John is essential and Sherlock needs him, not just wants him, but _needs_ him.

            “Are you high right now?”

            “No I am not high!” Sherlock shouts angrily. Honestly, does Victor have no observational skills at all? “I am clean!”

            “You are? Since when?” Victor asks in surprise.

            Sherlock closes his eyes. He wants this conversation to be over. He wants to have not made such a terrible mistake with John. He’s been clean since John. It’s all about _John._ John makes him better, not good mind, but better. He can be better for John. He just needs more time.

            “Sherlock?” Victor prompts him softly. “It’s that bloke, isn’t it?”

            Sherlock makes a noise in the back of his throat and looks up at Victor for the first time since he arrived. He nods; his throat feels too thick to speak.

            Victor walks over and kneels before Sherlock. “Did I do something wrong?”

            “No,” Sherlock tells him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

            “Are you in love with him then?”

            “I don’t know,” Sherlock answers honestly. “I wouldn’t be able to recognize that certain emotion considering I’ve never felt it before.”

            Victor’s face falls and he bows his head. “Jesus, Sherlock, you can be a real prick sometimes.”

            Sherlock frowns and brings his knees up to his chest. He doesn’t understand for a moment until he runs back the conversation in his mind to figure out where he went wrong. “I never told I loved you,” Sherlock says defensively.

            “Yeah, well, it didn’t stop me from hoping,” Victor mumbles, turning his face away. “I guess I should have known better.”

            “Yes, you should have,” Sherlock informs him bluntly. “I’m no good at things like this. I did tell you that when we started.”

            “Well, as you like to point out, I’m an idiot,” Victor tells him good-naturedly. He leans up and kisses Sherlock softly on the cheek. “You take care of yourself, Sherlock.”

            Victor stands and heads towards the door. Sherlock feels something painful twist in his stomach. “Victor!” he calls out.

            “Yes?” Victor turns back.

            Sherlock bites his bottom lip nervously. “Are we…are we still friends?”

            Victor smiles a bit sadly. “After a while, maybe. I’ll need some time, Sherlock.”

            “Of course.”

            “Bye, Sherlock,” Victor says quietly. “It’s been…well, it was interesting. I’ll see you at school.”

            Sherlock watches Victor leave. He knows it’s common for people to feel sad after a breakup, yet all he feels is relief that it’s finally over. He ends up playing his violin for the rest of the evening and thinking about how to deal with his other problem – Doctor John Watson.

 

                                                                        ***

 

            Sherlock arrives at St. Bart’s and makes a beeline for John’s office. It has been a week since John left his flat in a hurry. Sherlock has been texting John but all of them have gone unanswered. He’s been given no choice.

            He has to force a confrontation.

            Sherlock pushes open the door to find John with a patient. Both John and the woman he’s examining look up in surprise when the door bangs open.

            “John, I need to speak with you,” Sherlock tells him insistently.

            “Not now, Sherlock.” John turns resolutely back to the woman he's examining. She's plain and in her mid-fifties. Clearly just a routine checkup, nothing too important. 

            “I’m not leaving.”

            John’s mouth goes into a hard line and he stomps over to Sherlock. He grabs Sherlock’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Just give me a moment, Mrs. Andrews,” John calls over his shoulder before shutting the door. He shoves Sherlock against the wall of the hallway and glares at him. “You know what, Sherlock? This isn’t cute. It isn’t charming. I would have thought my silence would have been a pretty clear indicator that I have no interest in speaking to you.”

            “But John –“

            “No, Sherlock,” John cuts him off. “I told you again and again that I didn’t want you cheating on your boyfriend with me. That I didn’t want you putting me in that situation and you did it anyway.”

“And yet you continually flirted with me, kissed me and even had phone sex with me,” Sherlock pointed out, unsure why John was being so difficult.

John blanches. “A few innocent kisses a-and –“

“They were hardly innocent, John.”

“And you barely gave me a choice with the phone sex thing,” John argues quietly, looking around the hallway for anyone who might overhear them. “You begged me to talk you off.”

“I did,” Sherlock agrees. “And you enjoyed it, so why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John shakes his head in disbelief. “I am so royally pissed off at you that I could hit you.”

            “Then do it,” Sherlock says evenly.

            “I – what?” John steps back and stares at Sherlock like he is crazy. It is a look Sherlock knows well.

            “If hitting me will speed up your strop and allow us to get past this then by all means,” Sherlock tells him.

            John shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m not going to hit you, Sherlock.”

            “You just said you wanted to.”

            John frowns at him. “It loses all appeal if you’re _letting_ me.”

            Sherlock groans in frustration. John can be so contrary sometimes. Clearly, playing to John’s anger isn’t working. Sherlock tries another tactic.

            “I can still feel you inside me,” Sherlock purrs, stepping close to John.

            “Jesus Christ,” John swears quietly and scrubs his hand over his face. “Sherlock, you can’t just say things like that to people. Also, it’s highly unlikely since it’s been a week.”

            “I’ve never been stretched that much before,” Sherlock informs him. Flattery is always good. People enjoy getting compliments.

            John tips his chin up as if trying to hide being effected by Sherlock’s words. “Well, I hope it was worth it.”

            “John, you are always worth it,” Sherlock responds, not understanding John’s meaning.

            John’s face softens slightly at that. He looks tired, more so than usual, so it isn’t just work. John hasn’t been sleeping well for the last week. Sherlock feels something akin to guilt at that.

            “God, Sherlock, you say shit like that and yet you still haven’t even thought to apologize to me.”

            Sherlock stops for a moment. He hadn’t thought of that. How could he not have thought about that? It’s so simple. God bless John Watson and his simple mind.

            “I’m sorry,” Sherlock says.

            John scoffs. “Maybe try that again as if you actually mean it.”

            Sherlock frowns and takes a step closer to John. “I am sorry,” he says softly. He’s almost surprised to find he is being sincere. “I’m sorry that I am incapable of staying away from you, even when you ask me to.”

            John sighs. “Perhaps I’m a bit to blame as well. I wasn’t exactly keeping away from you either.”

            “Have coffee with me,” Sherlock requests, running his fingers through John’s hair. “I’ll buy. Just give me an hour of your time to explain. If at the end you decide you don’t wish to see me anymore, I will leave you alone.”

            John worries his lips as he considers it. Sherlock very much wants to kiss him. He wants to show John how stupid he’s being, however, John needs to be placated. Sherlock knows that the more he tries to force John, the harder John will dig his heels in. Dealing with John requires a tool of precision, not a blunt instrument.

            John glances up at Sherlock when he makes his decision. “Just coffee,” he tells Sherlock in no uncertain terms.

            “Of course, John.”

 

                                                                        ***

 

            Sherlock drums his fingers on the table as he waits for John to join him. He knows he should have requested they meet somewhere quieter and more intimate. Here there are too many distractions and Sherlock finds his eyes darting from person to person, reading them quickly, before moving onto the next.

            When John sits down across from him, Sherlock’s focus zeroes in, and everyone else seems to fall away. John is holding his coffee cup in his hands, cradling it for the warmth and comfort it provides. He shifts in his chair, clearly nervous, and he still looks tired. Sherlock will have to do something about that if given the chance.

            “Okay, I’m here,” John says, stating the obvious for some reason. “Talk.”

            Sherlock takes a deep breath. “Victor and I met at Eton,” he informs John.

            “Oh great, we’re going to talk about him,” John grumbles, sliding down in his seat.

            Sherlock scowls at him for the interruption and then continues. “He was the only person there who didn’t hate me. He had a dog that reminded me of the one I'd had as a small child. The dog bit me on the leg and that was how we met. We became friends and slowly I began to recognize his attraction towards me. It was flattering to be looked at in such a way. I knew other people had found me attractive before, but they would never act upon it because of the way I am.”

            “The way you are,” John repeats, frowning to himself as he takes in Sherlock’s words.

            “Yes,” Sherlock is annoyed that John keeps interrupting, but he continues without comment. “I thought entering into a sexual relationship with Victor was the only way I could keep him as my friend. The sex was mildly distracting at times and it allowed Victor an excuse for why he was spending time with me. People would ask him how he could _deal_ with me. At least if we were shagging then he had something to tell them.”

            John holds his cup a bit more tightly at that, clearly outraged, but keeping quiet.

            “So you see, I had no real commitment towards Victor,” Sherlock explains. “He was my first and only friend. He continued to stay with me even though people called me a freak. He defended me at times and I found that pleasing. Becoming sexual with Victor was merely a means to maintain the friendship. However, Victor and I had never agreed on any kind of exclusivity and he often enjoyed watching others with me. I think it was some kind of power play, seeing as I was smarter than him, taller than him and by most standards more attractive than him. So he enjoyed controlling me and I let him to placate him as much as possible. But I never really felt as if he owned me in any real way. It was a game, one I played to perfection, but was already growing tired of. We would have drifted apart eventually now that he's switched his major to English Literature. Still I was…reluctant to end it when you came along.”

            “You didn’t want to lose your only friend,” John fills in quietly.

            Sherlock nods. “I had every intention to, though,” he assures him. “I miscalculated.”

            “You miscalculated?” John asks, raising an eyebrow. “Really, you?”

            Sherlock nods. “When I told you over the phone that Victor and I were finished, I wasn’t lying.” John shoots him a look and Sherlock decides to rephrase. “Okay, perhaps I was stretching the truth a bit. I knew Victor’s flight got in that night, that he would come to see me, and that I would end things with him. I had no idea that once you had that information you would rush over and shag the hell out of me. You distracted me and I lost track of time. I forgot all about Victor, actually. You are so wonderfully diverting, John.”

            John blushes and turns his face away. “Right,” he clears his throat and then takes a sip of his coffee. “Thanks, I suppose.”

            “So the next time I saw you, what I said on the phone would be true. I got ahead of myself,” Sherlock says, hating to admit a mistake. “It won’t happen again.”

            John licks his lips and finally meets Sherlock’s gaze again. “The two of you are finished now though.”

            “Yes.” Sherlock nods.

            John narrows his eyes.

            “I wouldn’t lie to you about this again, John,” Sherlock insists. “Not when I am trying to make amends.”

            John sighs and relaxes into his seat. “I have no idea what to do with you,” John informs him, scrubbing his hand over his face.

            “I’m sure you have plenty of ideas,” Sherlock responds with a grin.

            John chuckles, putting his hand over his mouth to stifle it, and shakes his head. “You’re insufferable.”

            “You like me anyway.”

            John smiles. “Yeah, well, some things you just can’t help.”

 

                                                            ***

 

            John is punishing him. Sherlock has never imagined John would be so cruel to him, and yet the evidence is right in front of him. John has mandated a ban on sex until he feels that Sherlock has paid for his lies. Sherlock finds this punishment unacceptable, but John is unwavering in his stubbornness.

            Sherlock is constantly trying to find ways to make John crack. He wears tight clothing and tries to be as seductive as possible. John merely laughs at him, _laughs,_ and sidesteps the issue. Sherlock feels as if he’s growing madder each day.

            They’re sitting together on the sofa watching some film that John insisted on. Sherlock is hardly paying attention to it, having dismissed it as inconsequential, and is vibrating with want. John is sitting besides him, perfect and frustratingly untouchable. Sherlock wants to bury his face in John’s neck and beg John to fuck him.

            “John,” Sherlock whines, dropping his head onto John’s lap. “This movie is so _boring._ ”

            “No it isn’t,” John retorts, sliding his fingers into Sherlock’s hair. John still touches him, small little caresses and the occasional chaste kiss, but whenever Sherlock tries for more, John withdraws. It is unbelievably frustrating. John has a will of iron.

            Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes. Eventually, the feeling of John’s fingers sliding through his hair lulls him to sleep. He wakes up again when the credits are rolling. “Oh dear, did I miss it?” Sherlock grins and stretches like a cat on the sofa.

            John chuckles and shakes his head. “You are such a git.”

            Sherlock looks up at John. “Will you be staying the night?” he asks, biting his bottom lip nervously. It is another one of John’s rules. He does not spend the night, ever. Not even on the sofa as if he’s afraid that Sherlock will pounce on him in his sleep.

            ‘No,” John informs him softly.

            “John,” Sherlock complains unhappily. “How long are you going to punish me?”

            “Until you’ve learned your lesson.”

            “I _have.”_

            “Sherlock, lying to me is never okay, not under any circumstances.”

            “I won’t lie to you ever again, John,” Sherlock promises, hoping that will be enough to appease him.

            John sighs. “It isn’t just about you lying to me.”

            “Then what else is it about?”

            John tugs Sherlock up and rearranges them on the sofa so Sherlock is sprawled on top of John. John smiles softly and kisses Sherlock sweetly. “I think in general we both kind of rushed through things,” John answers, sliding his arms around Sherlock. “I think we could benefit from taking a bit of time.”

            “I don’t want to take my time,” Sherlock grumbles, burying his face in John’s neck.

            John huffs out a laugh. “I understand that, Sherlock,” John says, turning his head and kissing Sherlock’s temple. “You’re like a steam engine going at full throttle. I know I have no real hope of slowing you down, but I can try. Can’t you just accept that this is something I need?”

            “It’s just so illogical,” Sherlock says petulantly. “We’ve already had sex. We both want to have sex again.”

            “Sherlock, I wouldn’t bring up the last time we had sex if I were you,” John responds, his voice growing stern. “Considering how it ended. It's poor salesmanship.”

            Sherlock groans and presses kisses to John’s throat. He doesn’t know the right thing to say to change John’s mind and he finds that unbelievably frustrating. His need for John is like his need for cocaine. It’s a constant ache and when he cannot have it he feels desperate. Sherlock hates feeling desperate and at the moment he has no cocaine and no John. His only relief is cigarettes and John has voiced his distaste for those as well. Soon Sherlock will have no stimulation because John will have deprived him of everything he likes.

            “It won’t be forever,” John says softly. “I want you too, you know. I just…I think…”

            “You should never think,” Sherlock interjects. “You’re terrible at it. You should leave all the thinking to me.”

            John rolls his eyes. “You’re such a flatterer.”

            “It’s true though,” Sherlock counters. “You’re insisting on making us both miserable with no point to it.”

            “No point?” John echoes in offense. “Sherlock, there is most definitely a point to all this.”

            “Yes, yes, to make me learn my lesson,” Sherlock waves him off. “I’m a fast learner John. Do you really think I haven’t already learned it?”

            John scowls at him.

            “What?” Sherlock shrugs. “It’s true.”

            “Get off me,” John says through gritted teeth. “I’m going home.”

            Sherlock stays resolutely where he is. “Now you’re angry with me.”

            “Of course I bloody well am!” John snaps at him. He tries to get out from underneath Sherlock but Sherlock makes sure to pin him down with his body. “Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want to have sex with you?”

            “No,” Sherlock answers bluntly.

            John snorts. “Aren’t you just full of yourself?”

            Sherlock frowns. “It has nothing to do with my vanity,” Sherlock explains, staring at John in confusion. “When I’m around you show classic signs of arousal. You always have. If you didn’t want to have sex with me, you wouldn’t be displaying them.”

            “Sherlock, you’re not understanding me.”

            “That’s because you’re being deliberately obtuse!”

            John growls in frustration. “I want this to mean something more, because for whatever mad reason, I like you.”

            “More than what?”

            “More than just sex.”

            “John, I would hardly have pursued you for as long as I did if all I was after was a shag,” Sherlock reasons. “And I wouldn’t have continued to try and be with you after I had already achieved my goal. Why are you constantly wary of my motives?”

            “I wonder why,” John deadpans.

            Sherlock presses his lips together unhappily. He doesn’t know how to make John understand. It feels as if they are talking about two different subjects. He doesn’t know how to make John see that he is essential to Sherlock.

            “John, I have done everything in my power to bend myself to your will,” Sherlock informs him haughtily. “I’ve stopped my drug habit, I’ve broken up with my boyfriend, while simultaneously losing my only friend, and yet you somehow think this is all temporary for me. As if I would go to such great lengths for something I didn’t think was worthwhile.”

            “Well considering how we started, it doesn’t seem that unlikely that someone else might catch your attention. What if I’m just the next Victor?”

Sherlock stares at him. “Is that really what you think of me? Why do you continue to doubt me? I put up with your no sex rule, haven’t I? Why would I do that if I didn’t need you? And it is _need,_ John, not just want. Do not ever accuse me again of having a wandering eye since both have been resolutely fixed on your since the moment we met.”

John swallows hard and looks away. “I’m sorry,” John apologizes quietly. “I don’t see myself the way you seem to. I don’t think I’m worth all the trouble. And then I saw Victor in the doorway and I thought you must have lied about all of it, because how could someone like you be so taken with someone as ordinary as me.”

            “It’s not about seeing, John, anyone can see, they just have to use their eyes. It’s about _observing_. It’s about using your brain. I don’t just see you, John. I see all of you and you aren't ordinary. ”

            Sherlock rests his forehead against John’s and wills him to understand. It’s exhausting trying to make John realize how important he is.

            John’s breath hitches slightly and then his lips are pressed against Sherlock’s. They’re hard and insistent as he slips his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth. “I don’t understand,” John breathes out between kisses. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you seem to want me so much. Why you’re so fascinated by me. But _god,_ I hope you never stop.”

            Sherlock moans softly and kisses John back hungrily. He knows John still doesn’t have a clue about how Sherlock feels, but it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know a lot of you guys wanted Sherlock to suffer. I hope his reasoning in this chapter made you feel at least a little bit of sympathy for his character even though he done goofed! Thank you for reading and all the lovely comments so far!


	8. You'll Remember Return to Sender Now

John is just starting to feel like he is getting the hang of being with a mad genius, learning the pitfalls and drawbacks to such a thing, when Sherlock goes into one of his black moods. Sherlock is lying on the sofa in a state on ennui, his back to John, and he has not said a word for three hours. John isn’t sure why he continues to stay at Sherlock’s flat when he so obviously isn’t wanted. He knows it’s the doctor in him that is making him stay. He wants to help but has no idea how to go about it.

            Every time he tries to initiate a conversation, Sherlock glares at him as if he’s being offensive. John isn’t sure how much more of it he can put up with.

            “Cuppa?” he calls out, making his way towards the kitchen.

            “I need something stronger than tea!” Sherlock scoffs. John stops, not having expected a response. Sherlock is glaring at him from over his shoulder. John turns more fully and stands in the kitchen doorway, his arms folded.

            “I’m not getting you cigarettes,” John states firmly.

            Sherlock huffs and jumps off the sofa. He stalks towards John like some kind of wild animal but John holds his ground. “I’m not asking your permission,” Sherlock spits out angrily. “You have no idea –“

            “No, I don’t,” John admits readily. “My small brain can’t even comprehend, is that it?”

            Sherlock glowers at him. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Your mind is so placid, straightforward, barely used.”

            John grins, all teeth, “Then why do you put up with me then?”

            Sherlock growls in frustration and stalks away. He goes over to the window and picks up his violin. He plucks at it absentmindedly, unable to sit still for even a second.

            John knows none of the abuse hurled his way is meant. He’s a doctor, for Christ’s sake, he should be able to help. Sherlock has been growing steadily worse over the last week or so. John knows part of that is the withdrawal he’s suffering, part of it is boredom, and part is sexual frustration. John can’t do much about the withdrawal, but he can help with the other two.

            John makes his way over to Sherlock and carefully removes the violin from Sherlock’s hands. He places it down and then looks at Sherlock with purpose. Sherlock’s eyes are bloodshot, his hair unruly, and his body is quivering slightly. John slowly wraps his arms around Sherlock and just holds him.

            Sherlock releases a large puff of air and suddenly melts against John as if all his bones stopped working at once. John smiles and presses kisses to Sherlock’s neck, hearing Sherlock make little humming noises in response. “You know, it’s a lot easier if you just tell me what you need instead of making me guess.”

            “Everything I need you will disapprove of.” Sherlock lets out a resigned sigh and slumps further into John.

            John brings his hand up and starts to gently pet Sherlock’s hair. “Not this,” John murmurs. “Not me. I would never disapprove of you needing me.”

            “You have,” Sherlock insists, the words mumbled against John’s skin. “You have, John. You –“

            “Shh,” John quiets him softly. “That’s all over now. You need me, and I can’t deny you anything. So we’re done with that now, yeah?”

            “Really?”

            Sherlock’s voice sounds hopeful and it makes John’s heart swell. If he had known what he was doing to Sherlock, the damage he was causing, he never would have denied Sherlock. Sherlock clearly thought that an absence of sex meant an absence of affection. John has tried to show him that just because they aren’t having sex doesn’t mean that they can’t touch each other. He wonders about Sherlock’s previous relationships and how Sherlock could have misconstrued things so completely.

            “Come here,” John requests, pulling Sherlock over to the sofa. He drags Sherlock down and captures his lips in a sweet kiss. He pushes his fingers up into Sherlock’s hair and starts massaging them through those beautiful curls.

            Sherlock moans against John’s lips and kisses him back with just a hint of desperation. John has no idea how he could have missed this. Everything Sherlock does is screaming that he needed this and John had somehow missed it. The guilt wells up in John’s throat like bile but he pushes it back down. There are a lot of things about being Sherlock, being that clever, that John just cannot comprehend. He's starting to learn how to read Sherlock, but he is by no means an expert. Still, he doesn't want to cause Sherlock additional pain, even if he felt he was justified in it.

            Sherlock’s erection is hot against John’s stomach where Sherlock is pressed so tightly against him. John works his way down and into Sherlock’s trousers. He can’t believe the glorious sound Sherlock makes when John finally gets a hold on him, stroking him with slow, even movements.

            “Attempting to distract me?” Sherlock rumbles, grinning against John’s mouth.

            “Succeeding,” John corrects, thumbing over the head and making Sherlock choke out a moan.

            Sherlock comes apart in John’s arms and it is the most stunning thing John has ever seen. He looks a wreck, his lips red and swollen from kissing, his breathing ragged and his hair all mussed up. John has never seen anything so obscene up close and it makes his dick ache with want.

            “Come on, love, give it to me,” John purrs in Sherlock’s ear. “Let me see you.” He presses kisses to Sherlock’s forehead as he strokes him faster. Sherlock is rocking into John’s fist with need and then he is coming. John feels Sherlock pulse in his hand and something like pride wells in John's chest because it is incredible to know that he did that.

            The moment Sherlock’s eyes become clear again, John kisses him softly on the lips. “Feel better?” John inquires.

            Sherlock hums contentedly in response. It’s a heady kind of rush he gets from knowing that he can make Sherlock like this. Sherlock is sprawled on top of him like some kind of octopus, all long limbs that feel limp with contentment.

            “Do you need me to…” Sherlock trails off, glancing down at John’s erection.

            John shakes his head. “This was about you,” he murmurs, kissing Sherlock’s temple.

            Sherlock glances up at John as if he is something extraordinary, something indescribable, and John feels the weight of that gaze. No one looks at him the way Sherlock does. It’s almost crushing in all the things Sherlock can pour into one look.

            “I don’t understand,” Sherlock finally speaks up. “You’re aroused. You’re aching and yet you don’t want me to do anything about it.”

            John smiles. “It’s not that I don’t want you to, Sherlock,” John insists, realizing once again how young Sherlock is. “You aren’t obligated to get me off.”

            Sherlock worries his lower lip. “And if I wanted to?”

            “Then I would be delighted,” John says, smiling genuinely at Sherlock. “I’m not keeping score, Sherlock. I’m not going to tally up every time you didn’t give me an orgasm to hold it over you. I don’t know what kind of relationships you had before, but I can guess. You needed to turn that big, beautiful brain of yours off temporarily and I wanted to help. I couldn't think of a better way than to get you off.”

            Sherlock shifts, clearly uncomfortable without the reciprocity. John feels his heart ache just a little bit that Sherlock feels so out of balance. He leans down and kisses Sherlock again. He needs to fix this and find a way to make Sherlock more comfortable.

            “Sherlock,” John groans softly, arching off the sofa. “Please. I need you.”

            Sherlock swallows thickly and nods his head. He rucks up John’s shirt and presses kisses down his torso. It feels as though Sherlock is mapping him with his tongue. John can’t help being flattered that Sherlock is taking up valuable brain space cataloging him.

            “Sherlock,” John whispers, sliding his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. “You know you can ask me for what you want, right?”

            Pale eyes flick up to meet John’s. “I can?”

            John nearly sobs. Sherlock looks so lost and vulnerable. John wants to find everyone Sherlock has been in a sexual relationship with and punch them. How can he not know something so simple? Suddenly Sherlock’s confidence and bravado looks more like a mask than anything else. Before John is the real man, young and unsure. “Of course you can,” John says, his voice thick with emotion. “That’s the only way this will work, Sherlock.”

            Sherlock rests his chin on John’s stomach and just stares up at him as if he is an anomaly that Sherlock is still processing in his mind. It’s a little daunting to be under such a gaze. “Anything I want?”

            “Well, I mean, you can ask,” John tells him. “I’m not giving you carte blanche on our sex life. But you can always voice how you want things to go. I thought you knew that. You weren’t exactly demure our last time.”

            Sherlock blushes. “I didn’t have time to think last time,” Sherlock responds, burying his face in the crest of John’s hip. “Now I can’t stop thinking.”

            “Hey,” John calls out, petting Sherlock again. “We have time. We have nothing but time. We’re going to do all sorts of things to each other.”

            Sherlock smiles against John’s skin. “I want to fuck you.”

            John smiles in return. “I thought you’d never ask.”

            They relocate to the bedroom and in no time John is holding onto Sherlock for dear life as Sherlock slides into him. His legs are wrapped around Sherlock and he’s nearly bent in half as Sherlock fucks into him. It’s good. It’s so good that John knows he isn’t going to last long. He’s so turned on and Sherlock is circling his hips on each thrust, hitting John’s prostate and making him see white.

            “Fuck, Sherlock, fuck!” John cries out, tossing his head back against the pillow. “Harder.”

            Sherlock grunts and begins snapping his hips into John. John claws at Sherlock in need, at his back, his arms, clinging and marking him, unable to stop himself.

            “John,” Sherlock moans, his voice half an octave lower with arousal. It’s so deep that it rumbles through John and sends shivers of arousal down his spine. “I can’t. I can’t.”

            “Whatever you need, love,” John promises blindly, feeling his body racing towards orgasm. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

            “You,” Sherlock croaks out, “John!”

            John feels Sherlock’s hips stutter as he comes inside John’s body. John gasps as his orgasm finally hits, making him release onto his chest. “Oh fuck!” John groans, his cock twitching with the aftershocks. “Hmm. Fuck. Sherlock.” John can’t do anything more than speak in broken words, panting hard in an attempt to catch his breath. He feels so good, relaxed and tingly.

            John pulls Sherlock down into a languid kiss, his tongue sliding sinfully against Sherlock’s. He wonders in the back of his mind whether that was the first time Sherlock topped someone. He had seemed so hesitant to ask for it that at the very least he probably wasn’t used to it.

            “You were amazing,” John praises, tangling his legs with Sherlock’s. “Absolutely brilliant.”

            “I’m always brilliant, John.”

            John smiles and runs his hand up and down Sherlock’s back, his fingers sliding over each vertebrae of Sherlock’s spine. He’s pleased that Sherlock’s regained some of his confidence. Sherlock being unsure was almost unsettling. He had gotten so used to Sherlock being this big presence. He didn’t like seeing Sherlock looking so meek and small.

            “You are,” John agrees, sighing contentedly. His affection for this man is overwhelming. The fact that Sherlock would be so open with him, let him see that vulnerable side, has John feeling elated. He wants Sherlock to always feel like he can show John any side to him. John bites his bottom lip as he considers. “Sherlock?” he calls out tentatively.

            “Yes, John?”

            “You said something the other day, something I didn’t quite pick up on. You said you were bending yourself to my will,” John remembers Sherlock saying those words during their fight. He had skipped over them at the time, trying to get to the real crux of the issue, but now that they have a quiet moment, he needs to address them.

            Sherlock hums. “Yes.”

            “Sherlock, you’re not –“ John sighs and closes his eyes. “You’re not changing yourself to be with me, right?”

            He feels Sherlock shift beneath him and John wants to hold him tighter in response. Instead he loosens his grip and allows Sherlock some distance. He opens his eyes to find Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at him. “I don’t understand the question,” Sherlock informs him. “You know I have.”

            John sits up. “Well, I…” John trails off, fear tightening in his stomach. “I know you’ve stopped with the drugs, and you broke up with your boyfriend, but besides that, you’re still _you_ , right? I haven’t asked you to change on a fundamental level, have I? I know it might not seem it all the time, but I like you the way you are. God, I sound like a pop song, but it’s true. You’re still Sherlock Holmes, right? Even without the drugs?”

            “I don’t know what that means,” Sherlock responds, tenting his hands together under his chin, examining John. “I don’t know what it means to be Sherlock Holmes. For the past three years it’s been Sherlock Holmes – junkie.”

            John reaches out and places his hand on Sherlock’s knee. “You don’t need to figure it out, today,” John answers, giving his bony knee a small squeeze. “There doesn’t always have to be an addendum. You can just be Sherlock, whoever that is. Regardless, I’m crazy about him.”

            “Are you?” Sherlock asks, his lips curling up into a grin.

            “Definitely,” John murmurs, pulling Sherlock back fully onto the bed. “He’s mad, brilliant, gorgeous and completely smitten with a certain doctor.”

            “John,” Sherlock groans and rolls his eyes.

            “Don’t even try to deny it,” John says with a chuckle. To his delighted surprise, Sherlock doesn’t.

 

                                                            ***

 

            “John, I have a case!” Sherlock shouts, walking into the kitchen all dramatic with his long coat and wild hair. “Lestrade just texted.”

            “Oh, okay,” John nods, taking a bite of his toast. “I’ll just finish up my breakfast and be sure to lock up after me.”

            Sherlock looks confused for a moment, his eyebrows stitched together. “You’re not coming with me?”

            “Why would I be coming with you?” John asks, matching Sherlock’s puzzlement. “I’m not a detective.”

            “No, but you’re a doctor,” Sherlock points out.

            John still doesn’t understand. “So? If there’s been a murder than whoever died is past my help,” John explains, pouring hot water into his mug for tea. “And I’m not a mortician. So why would I be going to the crime scene with you?”

            “Because I want you to.”

            Something flutters in John’s chest at Sherlock’s response; so genuine that John feels he would follow him anywhere. “I can’t, Sherlock, I have work.”

            “Call in,” Sherlock suggests, stepping closer to John. “Are you really going to do something as boring as go to work when there’s a serial killer on the loose?”

            John chuckles before taking a sip of his tea. “Sherlock, I have no experience catching serial killers.”

            “I’ll teach you.”

            That makes John laugh harder. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that, right?”

            “Your point is?”

            John shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I can’t. I’ve got a surgery scheduled for today. I suppose you’ll have to rely on the police to help you catch the serial killer.”

            “Ugh, dull,” Sherlock huffs.

            John grins. “And then tonight you can tell me all about it,” he says, pushing up onto his tiptoes to kiss Sherlock sweetly. “I’ll be sure to show you how impressed I am with you.” John reaches around and gives Sherlock’s arse a playful squeeze.

            Sherlock bucks in surprise. “John,” he groans, kissing John insistently.

            John smiles as the kiss breaks. “Go on,” he says, staring up at Sherlock. “Go be brilliant.”

 

                                                            ***

 

            John has just finished his rounds and is about to prep for surgery when his phone rings. The caller ID says Sherlock and John thinks about ignoring it, but Sherlock never calls if he can text. It gives John pause and he doesn’t feel like he can ignore the call.

            “Hello?”

            “Is this John Watson?” a strange voice is on the other end. John’s entire body goes cold with fear.

            “Yes, who is this?” he asks, clutching his phone tightly.

            “This is Inspector Lestrade, I believe we met once before?”

            John lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “Yes, Inspector, I remember you. What is this about?”

            “Well, you see, Sherlock’s been talking to you.”

            “I’m sorry?” John doesn’t understand what the hell the inspector is talking about. “I’ve been at work all morning and I didn’t receive any texts from him.”

            “No, he’s been talking out loud to you,” Lestrade explains. “For a while he didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it. Kept saying your name. It took me longer than I want to admit to remember you.”

            “He’s talking to me as if I’m _there_?” John asks incredulously. He isn’t sure whether to be worried or flattered.

            “Yeah,” Lestrade says, sounding uncomfortable. “He was kind of freaking everyone out. One of my constables was certain he had lost it. Some thought you were his imaginary friend.”

            John sighs. “What is it you want me to do, inspector? If he’s talking to me while I’m not there, it’s a bit difficult for me to respond.”

            “Look, I’m breaking every rule as it is just letting Sherlock at my crime scenes,” Lestrade explains with obvious reservation. “But if it would help him not look like a complete nutter, maybe you could come with him next time? It’s clear he wants you with him and if it would make him better…well, it would help me out a lot as well. People already think I’m batshit for letting Sherlock look at the crime scenes. I don’t need him spooking my officers more than usual.”

            John scrubs his hand over his face. “I’d like to, but I have a job, I have responsibilities. I can’t leave that all just to follow Sherlock around and be his sounding board.”

            “No, right, I understand, but if you’re not busy one night, maybe you could come with him? I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything, but it would help me out if my squad knew you were real and not just a figment of Sherlock’s imagination.”

            “Right,” John says, finding a place to sit down. “I’ll think about it.”

            “That’s all I can ask.”

            “Is Sherlock close by? Can you put him on?”

            “Sure thing,” Lestrade says. John hears shuffling and muffled talking before Sherlock gets on the line.

            “Lestrade called you, why did he call you?” Sherlock asks, clearly confused.

            “You were talking to me, saying my name out loud, and it was unnerving people,” John explains.

            “Oh,” Sherlock says quietly. It’s clear from his reaction that he hadn’t notice he was doing it.

            “Look, Sherlock, I can’t always go with you to the crime scenes, but I’m still here,” John assures him. “If you need to talk me through it and want my opinion then just text me or something. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll do my best.”

            “Yes, right,” Sherlock answers, clearing his throat. “That would be…good.”

            John smiles. “I’ve got ten minutes to spare,” he says, making himself comfortable. “Tell me about this serial killer.”

           

                                                            ***

 

            The case lasts a week and so John stays away from Baker Street. He doesn’t want to get in Sherlock’s way or distract him from the case. It doesn’t stop Sherlock from texting him though. Every time his mobile chimes, he knows it’s Sherlock giving him an update. John tries to follow as much as he can, but without being in the thick of it, he doesn’t always know what’s going on. Sometimes Sherlock’s texts are bizarre and vague. John does his best to unravel them unless he’s too tired to be bothered.

            He has just finished brushing his teeth when he hears an odd scratching sound at his door. Worried, John goes into the kitchen to find some kind of weapon. He has no idea why someone would want to break into his flat. It’s a nice flat, one he is proud of, but he certainly doesn’t have anything worth stealing. He grabs the kitchen knife and waits in the shadows for the perpetrator.

            The door opens and smacks against the wall with a loud bang. Sherlock enters looking wild, his cheeks flushed and a huge smile on his face. John groans and puts the knife away. “Jesus, Sherlock, you scared me half to death. Why didn’t you just knock?”

            “I thought you would already be asleep,” Sherlock responds as if that’s some kind of answer.

            “If you thought I was asleep, why were you trying to break into my flat?”

            “To see you.”

            John sighs and shakes his head. He really should be used to this by now. He looks up in surprise to find Sherlock crowding against him. John is backed up to the kitchen counter with Sherlock pressed against him. “I solved it, John! I solved the case. The killer made a mistake.” That is all that John hears about the case because Sherlock begins to kiss him. He talks in between the kisses, but his lips are so distracting that John doesn’t absorb any of the information being thrown at him.

            They end up having sex on the kitchen counter. Sherlock is like some untamable beast, pounding into John as if he’s claiming him. John loves every second of it. He loves the hungry look in Sherlock’s eyes. He loves how hard Sherlock is fucking into him, just the way John likes it. Sherlock seems nearly out of control and John is merely along for the ride because it feels so good. John can’t get enough of this Sherlock, happy and brilliant, uncontrollable and needy. He bites and sucks at John’s skin, leaving marks as he makes John feel like the center of the Earth, at least where Sherlock is concerned.

            John doesn’t even need to be touched in order to come. It’s too arousing being fucked on the counter, clinging to the cabinets behind him, as Sherlock takes him. “Sher – Sherlock!” John cries out, pawing at the ridiculous coat that Sherlock hadn’t even removed, as he comes hard between them. Sherlock continues to thrust into John with abandon until John feels himself filled with Sherlock’s release. He’s sweaty and messy but he can’t find it in himself to care. “God, that was good,” he says breathlessly.

            “Sorry, I – I don’t know what came over me.”

            John pets Sherlock’s unruly curls. “Don’t apologize,” John tells him softly. “Never apologize for a fantastic shag. You won’t hear me complaining, at least not until I can’t walk straight tomorrow.” He grins and gives Sherlock a tender kiss.

            Sherlock smiles a bit shyly. “You’re a mess,” he points out, looking John over.

            “And whose fault is that, eh?” John teases, kissing Sherlock again.

            Sherlock looks pleased with himself as he pulls back and allows John to hop down from the counter. “Do you have anything in, I’m starving.”

            “There’s some leftover takeaway in the fridge,” John tells him, pulling his trousers back up so he doesn’t look completely ridiculous. “Heat it up while I go shower.”

            Sherlock nods and goes to the fridge to find it.

            After his shower, John pads out to find the container empty and Sherlock passed out in his bed. John can’t help grinning widely with an extreme fondness he always has when Sherlock is asleep. He makes his way over to the bed and curls himself into the space left for him. Sherlock immediately shuffles around to wrap his impossible limbs around John and hold him tightly. John giggles quietly and allows himself to be cuddled by Sherlock Holmes. He can’t even bring himself to mind that Sherlock is all bones and radiating heat like a furnace. No, John can’t seem to mind at all.


End file.
